


Was Hänschen nicht lernt...

by tisiph0ne



Category: Original Work, Third Reich - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Nazisploitation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:22:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22090246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tisiph0ne/pseuds/tisiph0ne
Summary: A young HJ boy and his hero-worship of an older officer...
Comments: 10
Kudos: 30





	Was Hänschen nicht lernt...

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for a small Christmas exchange over at [Dreamwidth](https://nazisploitation.dreamwidth.org/807.html).
> 
> For everyone who hasn't picked up on it yet: this fic contains pedophilia and rape. 
> 
> Before you get your knickers in a twist, I want to remind you of the [Three Laws of Fandom](https://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Three_Laws_of_Fandom), specifically No 1:  
>  **Don't Like; Don't Read.** Thank you.

The world knows no bigger romantics than little boys dreaming of adventure and glory. 

In the mid-nineteen-thirties, I was such a boy. I spent every afternoon in the woods on make-believe quests, on expeditions into the wild and hunts for rare animals. I rode an imaginary horse into battle, wielding my wooden sword as if it were real, and in the evenings I buried my nose in novels instead of studying for school. 

There was no doubt in my mind I would grow up to be a hero, a noble knight, a brave soldier – someone like Siegfried. 

Not just Siegfried the dragon slayer, but Siegfried Müller from down the street, the first SS man we had in the neighbourhood. All the boys wanted to be like him. His black uniform was so much more snappy than the brown-shirts' attire we thought. And accordingly, all the girls had a crush on him, including Anni, my older sister. I couldn't count the times she huddled together with her friends Lotte and Elsa, stealing glances at him, giggling.

It was easy to spot what they liked about him: he as was a handsome lad. With the sharp cut features and bright eyes, the blond slightly wavy hair that he kept short on the sides and long on top he looked like a movie star, or better still – like one of the pictures they showed us in school to teach us about racial science. 

I eyed him enviously every time I saw him, taking in every detail, just like the girls did, although maybe not with the same intent. I didn't want to _marry_ him after all. No, I hoped I'd turn out just like him one day, tall and dashing and strong, with broad shoulders, slim hips, imposing and proud.

Only now, many, many years later, I understand why so many adults look back so fondly at their childhood, why they think of it as a time of blissful innocence they wish they could return to, and if even for an hour. As a child it felt like the very opposite. Childhood seemed like a prison. I couldn't wait to grow up, finally grow out of my child's body. I was eager for my cheeks to lose their roundness, for my muscles to bulk up. I was so anxious to become a man. I imagined there would be nothing better than being an adult. It meant I'd be able to go to war, fight side by side with men like Siegfried, spend the evenings drinking and gambling and joking with them. What a wonderful life that must be!

But as always – once you wait for something, time slows down to a crawl, and instead of defending my beloved fatherland and earning medal after medal for bravery, I was stuck with school and homework and childish _Jungvolk_ exercises. 

“When will we learn how to shoot?” I kept badgering my leaders, every one of them from _Hordenführer_ upwards. No one was spared my nagging, but none of them budged. 

“Later,” they said, and, “You're too small”, “You're not old enough”, “Not before you'll join HJ.”

Time passed and I got too old for the Jungvolk and the game began anew. 

“When will we be taught to shoot,” I asked my HJ superiors, but they put me off, too. They only shrugged and said “soon enough, Hänschen, soon enough” and nothing ever happened until a fateful afternoon in early May. 

I had not seen Siegfried in a good long while when out of the blue, he showed up at one of our HJ meetings to tell us about the SS. He looked every bit as dashing as I remembered him, and his _Kragenspiegel_ told me, he'd risen up through the ranks. He was an _Sturmscharführer_ now and he said he aspired to become an officer. 

“It's not just fancy rich guys who make it to the top now,” he said, eyes bright with fervour. “The New Order gives little guys a chance, too. Ordinary lads like you and I can rise through the ranks. Make something of themselves.”

He talked passionately for about half an hour and we hung on his every word. We couldn't have been more enthralled by what he had to say if he had been the Führer himself, and we would have signed up right away if we hadn't been – again – too young to do so.

“Have just a little more patience,” he said. “Your time will come soon enough.”

“But we don't want to wait,” Harald said. 

“What can we do now?” Rolf added. “We want to be useful.”

“Perhaps if we finally learned how to shoot...” I piped up.

Every head turned towards me, but I didn't even register. I had only eyes for Siegfried who was awarding me his undivided attention. His bright steely gaze pierced me like a pin penetrates a butterfly. His thin, hard mouth twitched into a smile.

“Our Hans is very keen on firearms,” our teacher said before Siegfried could respond and seized the opportunity to hold a little speech of his own, thanking Kamerad Müller for his time and enthusiasm, and then, much sooner than I would have wished for, time was up and we were dismissed.

I made an effort to loiter, staying behind as long as I could to maybe get an opportunity to talk with Siegfried, and lo and behold, I was lucky!

“You're Schubert's boy, aren't you?” he asked me as we stepped outside into the street. 

I nodded, suddenly tongue-tied.

“I think I know your sister,” Siegfried remarked. “Anni?” 

“Yes, that's her.” 

“She's very pretty,” Siegfried said. 

Something about the way he looked at me made the blood rise to my cheeks and my stomach tied itself into knots. We looked an awful lot alike, Anni and I, at least that was what people kept saying. I wondered if he meant it like that. As a compliment.

“I'm sure she'll be thrilled to hear it,” I said and Siegfried smiled another strange smile.

“So, you wanna learn how to shoot?” he asked as we turned around the corner into Kirchgasse together. Without waiting for an answer, he continued, “I could teach you if you like.”

I felt like Christmas had come early. “Teach me?” I echoed.

“If you want… Our country needs lads who know how to fight.”

I couldn't have agreed more. And thus we arranged to meet Sunday after lunch at the little beech grove outside of town for my first shooting lesson.

What I hadn't reckoned with was Siegfried showing up on his motorcycle. 

“Hop on,” he said, gesturing behind him, and for a second I hesitated. I had expected we'd find a quiet spot behind the trees, somewhere that was technically still within walking distance from my home. It felt strange to leave without telling anyone. But I wasn't a child anymore but almost a man, and if Siegfried wanted to take me somewhere I sure as hell wouldn't chicken out.

And so I climbed behind him on his DKW and off we went.

I'd never been on a motorcycle before and it was fucking amazing! How fast the trees were flying by! How soon the town disappeared behind us! For the first time in my life, I felt free. The wind in my face, Siegfried in front of me, warm and solid. 

“Hold on tight,” he had told me, and so I did. My arms wrapped around him we raced towards adventure…

The place we ended up in was as beautiful as it was remote: At the end of a sand path leading through a dark forest there was a lake. Calm and green it lay between the trees, serene as if taken straight from a fairy tale.

“I come here whenever I need a bit of quiet,” Siegfried said as he picked up a couple of tins from behind a tree trunk that lay across the small shingle beach where we had stopped. While he put them onto the trunk I wondered how many boys like me he might have brought here before. It seemed more like a spot for a lovers' tryst than a place to use for target practice with a _Hitlerjunge_ he hardly knew.

“Here,” Siegfried said, pressing a gun into my hand. “Give it a try.”

The weapon weighed heavier in my hand than I had thought and hitting the mark proved much more difficult than I expected. I hadn't anticipated the recoil either and Siegfried's mouth twitched into another smile when he saw my bewildered expression.

“It's not as easy as it looks, eh?” 

I shock my head, feeling useless. 

“Don't worry, you're gonna get the hang of it eventually. Wait, I'll show you.” He stepped up behind me, correcting my stance. It was odd to have him so close, odder than I would have thought. Obviously, it wasn't the first time someone touched me like that. My sports teacher had done so, as had my boxing coach. But this was different. The fine hairs at the back of my head stood on end and a shiver ran down my spine.

“Take aim,” Siegfried said. “Yes, just like that. Now pull the trigger.” 

The bullet still didn't meet its mark but it had been a good deal closer to the tin than on my first attempt.

“Again,” Siegfried ordered. He rummaged through his bag while I tried to focus on the target. At last, he produced a bottle, unscrewed it and took a deep pull while I shot, again missing the tin I was supposed to hit. 

“Here,” Siegfried handed me the bottle. “Have some scope.”

Carefully I took a sip. The liquid was a caramel colour, some cheap cognac perhaps, and it burned down my throat like fire. I coughed.

“That's it,” Siegfried said with a smile. “Have another swig.”

I began to feel warm and fuzzy inside. My hand grew steadier, my eyes sharper. Maybe I imagined it but I did feel much better. Soon I fired with more confidence at the tins on the tree trunk, and finally, finally I hit one. It must have been more luck than skill, but I didn't care.

“Did you see that?” I yelled, turning around to look Siegfried. He grinned at me, visibly delighted by my joy, and without thinking, drunk on booze and success, I wrapped my arms around him.

Sometimes you know right away when something is off – it's like a change of the wind, a smell in the air, a premonition, a gut feeling. You can't quite put your finger on it, but you're sure about it, just like a deer that has scented a wolf is sure about the danger it's in.

I wanted to take a step back, away from Siegfried, but it was too late. He hugged me back and held me tight, pressed me against his hard body and something twisted inside my guts as a missing piece of the puzzle clicked into place. Why else would a grown man bring a boy like me to a place like this?

When Siegfried finally loosened his hold on me, I stumbled backwards.

His usually bright eyes were dark, his expression hungry. The gun I had still clutched in my hand slid from my grasp and fell to the floor. I don't think I would have had the courage to use it anyway.

“You have no idea how pretty you are?” Siegfried said, the slightest hint of slur in his voice. 

I glanced at the bottle in his hand – it was half-empty. 

“Siegfried,” I said, pleading. “Let's get back, okay? I've still got some chores to do and...”

But Siegfried didn't listen. He walked towards me, his eyes fixed to me as though I was prey and I stood before him like a rabbit before a snake, waiting to be devoured.

And devour me he did. He grabbed my face with large. strong fingers and then his mouth was upon mine, his tongue forcing itself past my lips, slick, nauseating. He tasted of booze and cigarettes, and I felt like throwing up, and more so when his free hand pawed at me, my back, my butt, my thighs.  
He shoved me against a tree, pinned me against the trunk with all his weight, the bark pressing into my back, chafing. 

“No,” I tried to say, but his mouth was still fastened to mine like a monster's sucker, wet and slimy, taking my air and my voice away. 

When he started tugging at my clothes, I put my hands on his chest, trying to push him off me, but he was too heavy and too strong and didn't move an inch. Instead he made short work of my shirt and my belt and my shorts, undressing me with the skill of someone who had had a lot of practice. 

The air was cold on my naked skin, no matter how warm the day really was. Chills were racing down my back. Siegfried's big callused hand on my thigh, I wished I could disappear, vanish into thin air, but I was trapped, I couldn't run and I couldn't fight.

And then, at last, he touched me _there_ , in this most intimate of places, rubbing me through the thin fabric of my underwear. A rush of shame surged through me when my body reacted to the stimulation, the pleasure dulled by the mortification. Arousal throbbed like an infected wound between my legs, such a nasty, addictive feeling. I grew slack against the rough bark of the tree, the surroundings blurring before my eyes. Sky-green and forest-blue, everything ran together, sensations pink and slippery in the pit of my stomach.

More booze and the world started spinning. I was dizzy. Rough hands on my naked flesh, Siegfried pressing against me, front to front, then front to back. He felt like stone, firm, hard, and yet too hot, feverish, too dry in places and too slick in others, like a disease. And like against a disease, I was helpless.

I had touched myself before, but it had been different. It had been nice and slow and filled with a subdued sort of bliss. This was like flashes in my brain, hot-white pleasure, then jagged guilt, then the slow ember glow of another touch. He took my balls in his hand, played with them, rolled them between his fingers while my brain was melting, the last resistance fading.

What kind of madness this was. I hated it, loved it. Coarse hair, smooth skin, the drag of lips over my flesh and then, horrible, awful pain. Fingers digging into my hips, cruelly, bruising, holding me steady while he split me open. Blunt, hard, huge flesh pushing inside me, relentless, without mercy. I couldn't breathe. It was wrong, too much, an unspeakable violation.

How obscene this must look, I thought. A tall, muscular Aryan man, youthful and strong, leaning over a much smaller, pretty boy. The boy panting, his rosy lips parted, his eyes wide with pain. A large, thick cock being forced into a hole not meant for such things, the pink muscle stretched wide. 

But there was more. I didn't have to look down to be aware of the plumpness of my balls, the erection that was flagging now that the pain outweighed the pleasure, but still leaking clear fluid. Precum dripped steadily down from the slit in my cock-head onto the ground. I must have wanted this, just as Siegfried kept telling me.

He spoke out every thought that flicked through my mind: that it was me who seduced him with my blue eyes and rosy lips and girlish beauty. That I led him on, like any slut would, and that it was only human to lose control in the face of temptation. That I wanted this all along, that I begged for it, really, why else would I have come here with him?

“Tell me how good this feels,” he said as he thrust into me from behind, hard, brutal snaps of his hips against my ass, his cock like a glowing steel rod in my ass. Still too big to be pleasant, but my young body stretched and adapted and while it hurt, it wouldn't kill me, he'd seen to that.

Maybe he does like me after all, in his own twisted way, I thought as I complied and choked out the words he wanted to hear from me, more broken moans than actual sentences, about how good he felt and how much I liked it. 

He pulled my hair as he picked up pace, yanking my head backwards, fucking me harder and faster, like a doll, like a dead piece of meat.

Soon, I though, soon it will be over.

But then he wrapped his fingers around my dick and he pulled and pleasure rolled through me like lighting and thunder, a wave, unstoppable and when he went rigid behind me, spilling inside me with a grunt like a bull or a stallion, my cock twitched in his grasp too and I came over his thick, strong rapist fingers as if, indeed, I enjoyed this.

“Now, wasn't that nice?” he said casually when he'd slipped out of me at last, wiping the spunk off his fingers and lighting up two cigarettes. He handed me one of them and then the cognac bottle too and I understood that this was it – what being a grown up was all about. Getting fucked in the ass, then a comfort drink after. It did prepare me for war, I have to say.

“Same time, same place next week?” Siegfried asked when I had hopped off his motorcycle back in town.

Feeling his come still dripping out of my ass, my hole all stretched and sore, I nodded.

“Sure,” I said. “Why not?”


End file.
